


Love And Other Things That Happen When You Don’t Hate Someone

by seriousfic



Series: Love And Other Things [1]
Category: True Blood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-15
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seriousfic/pseuds/seriousfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When her girlfriend Naomi becomes addicted to V, Tara will do anything to get her clean. Even fulfill Pam’s every whim. And Pam has a lot of whims…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic diverges from canon directly after episode 4x06 and was betaed by Fembuck.

“Girls, there’s no need to squabble. There’s plenty of me to go around.”

 

In a blur, Pam was on them. Tara was knocked aside like she’d momentarily been sucked into a tornado, while Naomi was thrown to the ground with Pam astride her.

 

“You love me long time,” Pam enunciated, her smile drawing the rotted flesh of her face into a deathshead. She cut the pads of two fingers on the razor blade of her grin, then forced them down Naomi’s throat.

 

The moment Tara’s head cleared, she tried to get up.

 

“You keep your ass in the dirt, breather!” Pam warned, her hand still gagging Naomi. “You should be thanking me for just giving away the primo shit. By the time I’m done with her, she’ll be an instant addict. And my Maker’s the Sheriff of Louisiana. I’m sure you have some experience with addicts; imagine one without a single dealer.”

 

“She’ll…” Tara scrambled for a solution. “She’ll go cold turkey. I’ll help her.”

 

“Oh, will she?” Pam shoved her fingers deeper. “You ever seen a veehead strung out? They seize so hard their backs break. That’s why doctors like to wean ‘em off it. Of course, for that you need blood, and she won’t get one drop until you _fucking fix me!”_

 

“Alright! Alright.” Tara bit down the urge to run at Pam and break her in half like the twig she was thin as. “Just don’t hurt her.”

 

Pam pushed Naomi off her fingers, leaving her sucking on air. Naomi hit the ground, squeezing her thighs together, clawing at her own breasts. Her high was pulling her along like a freight train.

 

“I’d say you have a day before she well and truly comes down.” Pam gave Naomi a little kick, which the human didn’t feel. “Tomorrow night. I want my face unfucked or I’ll turn your whole family into junkies—if they aren’t already.”

 

She turned to leave, but then thought better of it.  She kicked Naomi across the face, then stood for a moment, watching with some satisfaction as the vampire blood in the woman healed the cut her kick had left.

 

***

 

For the first hour, Tara looked for alternatives. She called Lafayette to see if he had a V stash, she asked Jason if he had any left, she even called Jessica and asked if there was any chance she could get a syringe filled. None of them could or would help her.

 

Naomi was burning with energy, so much so that she couldn’t even move, just laid on her back, kicking and moaning like a dog having a dream. Tara put her in the backseat of the car and drove to the magic shop. She read all night and all day, hoping for something. Because when she didn’t, she saw Naomi dead in front of her, like Eggs.

 

Finally, she came across a mention of the Fae. It was too promising to ignore. She called Sookie, and got as much confirmation as she could out of the reticent fairy that she could help. Then she called Fangtasia, leaving a message for Pam with Ginger.

 

The moment the sun went down, pink still in the sky, Pam poked her head through the door. “Knock knock,” she said, taking obvious relish in terrifying Tara with her horror movie face.

 

“Get in here,” Tara told her humorlessly.

 

Pam took her veiled hat off as she came in, brandishing the advancing decay on her face like battle scars. She took so much pleasure in the fear it brought that Tara suspected the only reason she wanted her skin back was vanity. Fucking vampires.

 

“Oooh,” Pam drawled, spotting Sookie in an unusually modest dress. “Decided to try and bribe me?”

 

“She can fix you, so you can fix Naomi.”

 

Pam smiled, the muscles of her cheek visibly growing taut. “And how is your… yellow fever? I hear some people become very _excited_ on V. Have you been giving her enough chocolate or is she still hungry?”

 

Tara resisted the urge to physically wipe the smirk off Pam’s face, or try at least, but she couldn’t stop herself from sneering, “You know, for all you vamps complain about humans hating on you, y’all some racist motherfuckers.”

 

Pam rolled her eyes. “Like I care what misgivings one anthill has against another. Maybe I just think you’re cute when you’re angry? Or maybe you fucked up my face and should _fix it_ already!”

 

Tara waved for Sookie to come closer. The blonde did, reluctantly. After so much time spent with the amnesiac Eric, it was a shock to see Pam—threatening both in appearance and action.

 

“You know how good I’m supposed to look,” Pam told her sharply. “Get to it.”

 

Sookie concentrated on summoning the light. It didn’t work at first. She talked to distract Pam, all the time hoping for her fingers to light up. “Just so you know, I think it’s really awful what you’ve done to Tara’s Sapphic friend.”

 

“Objection noted. Face! Now!”

 

The sudden rush of adrenaline from Pam yelling in her face did it. Sookie’s fingers glowed softly, and she raised them gently to Pam’s desiccated face. She focused her energy, and then she let it loose.

 

When the light faded, Pam didn’t even look for a mirror. She turned to Tara and **g** lamoured her. “Human! How do I look?”

 

Tara stood there, face frozen for a moment in outraged realization at what was being done to her before her features relaxed into neutrality. “You look beautiful as always, Pam.”

 

Pam smiled, feeling her own face for confirmation. She was smooth and cool as marble. “Well, ain’t that nice?” she asked, releasing Tara. The woman swore under her breath once she had her facilities back. “Thanks for a lovely evening, ladies. I need to go. There’s some new lipstick I’ve been dying to try, and I’d really like to fuck someone without traumatizing them too much.”

 

“What about the V?” Tara interjected, just as she started to blur.

 

Pam stopped a few feet away, Sookie rocking nervously on her heels, Tara crossing her arms resolutely. The vampire turned around.

 

“Scuse me?”

 

“Give us enough V to help Naomi,” Tara said firmly.

 

“Oh, sweetums… I know Obama’s president now, but _it doesn’t work like that._ See, you curing me just means I won’t kill you and your whole family, and don’t think I didn’t want to. As far as Lucy Liu goes, you’re on your own.”

 

Sookie started to step up and say that wasn’t fair, but Tara barred her path with an outstretched arm. “Fine,” Tara said, “but you’ll at least let us buy Naomi’s V.”

 

“Knock yourself out,” Pam replied affably. “But you do know where most of that shit comes from, right? Baby vamps with weak-ass blood who can’t pay their mortgage any other way. I’m a hundred fucking years old. My blood is _ambrosia._ Your girl’s going into withdrawal, Tara, and all you’ve got to give her is sugar water.”

 

This time she enjoyed walking away at normal speed, swaying her ass and pushing the double doors of the shop open. Tara followed her out into the moonlight, over Sookie’s hissed objection.

 

“Alright then. What’s the going rate for your blood?”

 

Pam didn’t even look at her. “You couldn’t afford me.”

 

“Why, how much did you charge back when you were hooking?”

 

Pam stopped to look at her.

 

“Inflation ain’t that bad,” Tara told her.

 

Pam made a half-hearted dash toward her, hand outstretched for her throat, but stopped partway as if only kidding. “I was a madame, you little cunt. I _never_ wore a wannabe Hooters outfit at anyone’s bar and grill.”

 

“What. The fuck. Do you want?” Tara demanded. “Because I’ll do anything.”

 

She knew what was coming next. Pam looked her over. She looked at everyone like they were meat, human and vampire, but there was casual interest and then there was her imagining how someone felt, sounded, tasted.

 

Pam smiled. “Make you a deal, hon. I’ll go give geisha girl a little trickle, then I’m going to come back here and glamour you. After that… well. You did say anything.” Pam’s fangs flipped down, clicking against her human teeth.

 

Tara couldn’t speak. Only nod dimly. She had to go through with it. She’d survived this shit before.

 

They went back to the shop. To Naomi, who’d turned pale and sweaty and now had dark bags under her eyes. Pam bit her own finger and let Naomi suck on for a few seconds before pulling away, leaving Naomi whining like a baby deprived of bottle. But she looked healthier. Tara only had a moment to squeeze her shoulder before Pam’s eyes filled hers…

 

***

 

She was still woozy from the bout of unconsciousness, so when Tara woke up, her first thought was _Ah fuck, I went gay to get away from this shit._

She was in someone’s fucking basement—a nice basement, as far as it went—and she’d been upstairs recently enough for certain things to linger. The smell of blood and alcohol, the sound of the sound barrier casually being broken. Vampires. Fucking vampires.

 

“Welcome to Fangtasia!” Pam called, walking down the stairs in heels only a vampire could balance in. “The cover charge is fifty bucks, but we’ll waive it just this once.”

 

“You take all the girls here?” Tara asked, burying her very real fear in sarcasm. It was easy to forget what was going to happen when she was spewing insults. “Not exactly Inspiration Point.”

 

A slow smile caressed Pam’s mouth. “As you may have noticed if you weren’t busy coming up with _devastating_ one-liners, you are now wearing the official Fangtasia shirt and trousers, both with a 100% poly-cotton blend and machine-washable. As a Fangtasia employee, you will be responsible for the care and upkeep of your uniform. Your appearance reflects on our business, and furthermore, on us. So please, don’t take the sleeves off to show your tattoos.”

 

“You want me to _wait tables_?” Tara asked incredulously.

 

“Darlin’, do you really think I need to blackmail someone to get sex _or_ blood? An off-the-books employee is much more valuable. Try running a business with Obamacare makin’ you pay for every third-grader’s dentist.”

 

“You really are a vampire,” Tara observed.

 

“Thanks. Get to work. And, just because I’m a boon of human compassion, you can keep your tips. Break one glass and that’s what it’ll come out of.”

 

Tara only realized she was sweating when she put a hand to her forehead. “You could’ve just fuckin’ told me you wanted a temp.”

 

“And miss the fun of smelling how wet you were when you thought I was gonna ravish you?” Pam’s tongue flicked out to wet her lips. “Try to get used to having an employee uniform that doesn’t cut off circulation to your tits.”


	2. Chapter 2

The truth was, Pam was almost right. Tara almost would’ve preferred getting sucked dry to working at Fangtasia. Merlotte’s may have had some cracker-ass clientele and skirts that had her getting a bikini wax every week, but at least Lala and Terry and Sook made the hours pass. All the other employees at Fangtasia were either fangers or fanger groupies. Half the customers thought they were Dracula, making the same damn ‘dark and mysterious’ come-ons like she’d never heard an Eastern European accent before. And they tipped like motherfuckers.

 

And of course, because it was her fucking life, things went from bad to worse. A week in, Naomi showed no signs of kicking the habit. Tara’s feet were aching from being seven hours on the job. She was thirty minutes away from going home so she could try to get to sleep while the sun was shining through the window.That’s when she went in back to get some clean dishes and found a fanger waiting for her, dressed in the emo wear of an unimaginative baby vamp.

 

“The lion has fallen in love with the lamb,” he told her.

 

“Okay,” she replied.

 

He stepped forward, hand on his heart, baring his soul so hard he almost gave away his New Jersey accent. “Your scent, it’s like a drug to me. You’re my own personal brand of heroin. I feel like I can’t control myself around you.”

 

“So fuck off,” she told him.

 

She turned for the door, but with a blur, he was in front of her. Tara backed up. Great. She was going to die because of some foofy-haired Ann Rice bitch. At least Pam killing her would’ve had some dignity.

 

Tara stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed and apprehensive, but then her survival instinct kicked in with a vengeance.  Fuck Pam, she thought. Fuck Sookie. Fuck vampires, and fuck this guy. She wasn’t going out like the blonde with a big rack in a slasher movie. Tara hauled off and threw a punch that knocked some blood from his eye, gave him something to see in the mirror the next time he checked his tan. He screamed and slapped her and of course she got the worst of it. She went down and thought _okay, that’s enough fucking up his pretty boy face for today._

He was saying something, but she ignored it until suddenly Pam was there behind him. She took careful grip of his head, twisted it to the side, and let him fall.

 

“Tara is _mine_ ,” she said, almost petulantly, like a child who’d had her toy stolen during recess. Then she pulled Tara to her feet, without much concern for how the action twinged Tara’s aching joints.

 

“I’m okay,” Tara said impotently.

 

“I didn’t ask.” Pam gave the vampire enough of a kick to roll him onto his back. He laid facedown.

 

“You killed him,” Tara said. Then, more surprised: “You killed him for me.”

 

“Don’t flatter yourself. He’ll be fine once someone turns his head back the right way. Which is not going to happen until he’s sobered up. Fucking vampires. If it’s not Hep-D, it’s this shit.”

 

“Yeah, vampires are the worst,” Tara agreed sardonically.

 

“Get the fuck back to work,” Pam told her.

 

Tara tried not to think about it. This was her life now. Putting up with vampires and Maenads and shifters and whatever other shit could fit in Louisiana.

 

But there were only so many more come-ons and leers and bottles of Tru Blood being nosily devoured she could take. Tara went in back to wash dishes and ended up nearly breaking a stack of them because her hands were shaking.

 

“Take the week off,” Pam told her. Tara whirled around to find the vampire in her blind spot. She wondered how long blondie had been watching her.

 

“What?”

 

“You’re no good to me being all Lifetime movie. Someone tried to kill you, get over it. Go home, give yourself a whipped cream enema or whatever it is humans do. It’s not like I’ll be needing you.”

 

The thought crossed Tara’s mind, as she turned to leave, that maybe Pam wasn’t such a bitch after all. After a moment she dismissed the thought and waited for the other shoe to drop.

 

“But you still need that blood for Chun Li, right?”

 

“Her name’s Naomi. Is it that hard to remember or are you just going senile in your old age?”

 

Pam laughed with more mirth than anyone could possibly feel, waiting for Tara to turn before she let it die. “Our friend with the hair bought up a good point. No one’s had your blood in a while. And these fangbangers… I know it’s not politically correct, but I swear, the more they’re bitten, the sourer their blood gets. Someone like you, unbitten except for one youthful indiscretion… I think you’d be delicious.” Pam watched as Tara crossed her arms impatiently. “Humans. You never know how to take a compliment. I’ll skip to the point. You give me some of your blood, I’ll give _Naomi_ some of mine.”

 

“Fine,” Tara agreed readily. “Deal. You gotta syringe?”

 

Pam’s fangs popped, muffling her words a little. “What?”

 

“I said it’s a deal. But we didn’t say anything about you biting me. I’ll fill a syringe, you can have it. You don’t touch me.”

 

Pam laughed again, this time drolly enough to be believable. “And what’s to stop me from glamouring you into letting me drink as much as I want and thinking it’s your idea?”

 

“Because that wouldn’t be any fun for you. I’m not saying you have some Klingon code of honor shit, but you got some kinda sense of sportsmanship in there.”

 

“Why, because I don’t find it becomin’ of an ‘apex predator’ to guzzle down a sex worker? God, Eric told me I’d get a reputation.  Very well. Don’t let me get to second base. Just remember that my fangs would feel a whole lot better than a cold little needle.”

 

***

 

Pam watched Tara draw her own blood—she’d worked at blood drives back before vampires came out of the coffin, when the Count Dracula jokes had at least a chance of being funny. The blonde did it with forced zeal, like a gay guy wanting to fit in at a stag party. Trying to freak her out, Tara figured. Look at the big bad vampire, getting off on all the _blood_.

 

When she was done, Tara handed the syringe to Pam, who took it sweetly, thanked her, and licked the needle of its single blood droplet. And then **,** Tara went home.

 

Naomi was doing better, but just barely. She’d been in and out of consciousness since that first skyscraper high, the waning V leaving her slack and shrunken, like a dried out sponge.  She stayed in bed, slept when she could, laid motionless when she couldn’t. Tara left the radio on for her, played some of her favorite podcasts when they updated. When Naomi got her dose from Pam—always delivered in person, always sucked from a coy little boxer’s bandage on Pam’s hand—Naomi would recover enough to talk a little, but Tara could never make heads or tails of their conversations. Sometimes she didn’t know who Tara was, sometimes she talked bashfully like they’d just started dating, sometimes she was as warm with Tara as an old married couple.

 

Tara figured she was still coming down from her high, Pam’s little doses keeping her from freefall.

 

She went back to work— _work,_ there was a fucking euphemism for you, strutting around Fangtasia like she belonged there—and put up with the few regulars who recognized her and realized she had **been** gone. At the end of the day, she brought the recipes to Pam’s office.  When she entered the room, she felt a buzz of electricity, and she knew that Pam was going to make a play. She could feel it.

 

“Tara,” Pam said, rolling the word on her tongue just so they both understood each other. “Go get me a drink from the fridge.”

 

Tara went to the fridge, opened it up. She knew Pam didn’t mean the Tru Blood. She’d gotten chewed up enough over not warming it up to know it tasted like shit cold. Pam meant the nice little vial of blood, real blood, with the emphatic Post-It note on it saying “Pam’s!” Heart under the exclamation point.

 

She picked it up, the cold seeming to burn her hand, and brought it to Pam. The blonde took it, thanked her kindly, and drank it in one long, steady gulp.

 

“Ahhh,” Pam said, licking her lips. “That hit the spot.”

 

“You should try it fresh,” Tara taunted mercilessly.

 

Pam looked at her with eyes that were full of sinful speculation.  Despite herself, Tara’s mind swum with visions of herself being pinned onto the desk and _devoured._

“I want another serving.”

 

“Sorry, tap’s closed.”

 

“I’ll give you another week off work.”

 

“I don’t work, I don’t get tips.”

 

“Fine. Paid vacation. A week off work and a hundred dollars.”

 

“Two hundred.”

 

“I’ve had better.”

 

“Not from me.”

 

They stared at each other. The look in Pam’s eyes darkened.

 

“Two hundred,” Pam acquiesced. “But you come in tomorrow to help with the weekend rush.”

 

“Fine,” Tara agreed. “They tip better then anyhow.”

 

Nothing was ever that easy. The morning Tara came to work, she went into the locker room to change and was interrupted by Pam, just when she was in her underwear, of course. Tara faced Pam, letting her get a good look.

 

“Something new for the employee uniform,” Pam told her, and held up a garter belt.

 

Tara snatched it out of Pam’s hand and began to wrap it around her thigh before Pam got any bright ideas about ‘helping’ her out. Pam watched with copious amusement.

 

“And hang onto this,” Pam said, tucking a vial of blood into the garter. Tara knew it was her own. “Keep that nice and warm for me.”

 

“Yessum, missy Pamela,” Tara said in her most pancake syrup accent. “But I don’t know nothing about feeding no vampires!”

 

“Get that cute little ass to work,” Pam told her with a smirk. “Or that big fat booty to work, as the case may be.”

 

At the end of the day, Pam drank her blood. She went on and on and on, like she wanted it one drop at a time. “Nothing like hot cocoa.” When she was done, Pam made the same offer as usual with the same bored disinterest, like she was deigning to accept proffered tea or something. Tara refused.

 

She liked the way Pam’s fangs popped as she dismissed her.

 

She’d halfway been expecting the vamps in the bar to swarm for their queen bee, start hassling her so Pam would give them some honey, but actually they seemed to treat her with a little more respect. Maybe it was the way she carried herself. She was fighting a private war with Pam, and she’d just retaken ground that Pam thought was occupied. She wasn’t surprised to find Pam shorter with her than usual, snappish. It was a relief to have someone to push against, while Naomi was just an obligation she couldn’t even complain about without feeling like a hateful bitch.

 

So when Pam showed up at Tara’s door, leaning against the wall like she didn’t even want to come in, Tara was not only unsurprised, she was relieved.

 

“Did someone skim from the tip jar?” Tara asked, not wanting to look away from Pam and not wanting to let herself be glamoured either—so she stared at Pam’s rack.

 

“What do you want for your blood?” Pam said, as if already bored.

 

“Maybe it ain’t for sale.”

 

“Bullshit,” Pam enunciated slowly. “Are you just playing hard to get? Do you want me to come in there and bite your jugular like you’re a common bleeder?”

 

“Here’s a thought,” Tara said. “Maybe if you go a week without any racist shit, I’ll let you bite me.”

 

Pam paused a moment. Then she just grinned. “If you want me to bite you, darlin’, you don’t have to pretend it’s some _prize._ ”

 

Tara crossed her arms, leaned against the wall herself, and dared looking in Pam’s eyes. Every nerve in her screamed that Pam could be as good as her word, just glamour her way inside and suck Tara dry, but she knew Pam better than that. She didn’t (just) want to drink Tara. She wanted to win the _game._

“Alright,” Pam said. “A deal’s a deal. But try to go easy on the garlic for the next week. It doesn’t make our heads blow up like in those stupid movies, but it makes your blood taste like shit.”

 

“And what does eating pussy make my blood taste like?” Tara asked, just to see the look on Pam’s face as the door was swung shut on her.

 

Tara went back to work at Fangtasia. She noted with some satisfaction the halting speech Pam had started using, the way she carefully considered every word to make sure it couldn’t be turned against her. Tara doubted it really took _that_ much of an effort for Pam not to be a racist shit, she was just making damn sure she wouldn’t lose to a human.

 

The human staff of Fangtasia, vampire groupies as they were, took Tara’s side, diligently reporting on what Pam said in private if it might hold a double meaning. There was nothing incriminating; it was just them enjoying being subversive, being a little naughty. The days rolled by, and when Thursday got there, Tara thought _I’m going to let Pam drink from me._

Not _I’m going to have to let Pam drink from me,_ with the disbelief and shock that implied. Those were long-past. This was more of a **n** ‘isn’t that funny’ twitch. She’d thought of it ahead of time, never one to want to get in over her head, but the closer the end of the week came, the more real the thought was. What if Pam didn’t stop when she’d had her fill? What if Tara liked that?

 

End of the week. It had just flown by, lingering when Tara had to go about the dull, queasy work of squeezing Pam’s blood from an eyedropper into Naomi’s mouth. She knew it was unfair, but she’d started resenting the other woman. Like at some point she and Sookie and her mother had all gotten together and chosen to play the victim, while people like Tara had to shoulder every fucking thing. She bottled it up when she was around Naomi, the woman innocently tripping, but sometimes when she was out in the open, she’d look at some hillbilly shitkicker and just wish he’d say the shit she knew he was thinking so she could cave his face in. She was in Louisiana; what’d it take to get some decent hate speech going?

 

After all, it wasn’t like she could punch out Pam.

 

Finally, the hour came. Pam stayed up, skipping her beauty sleep. When Tara locked up, shutting out the morning sun, Pam was there with red-rimmed eyes, not willing to wait one extra sleep to collect.

 

If a cobra knew it’d been milked of venom, and then knew its venom was back, Tara thought it would smile like Pam did.

 

“So where shall I bite you?” she asked, guessing Tara’s little provision ahead of time. “My Nubian goddess… my ebony queen…”

 

“You’re right, I am hot.” Tara smiled at her. “Nothing like a nice tan, huh?”

 

“What can I say? In **a** land of inbred cracker motherfuckers, the BAP is queen.”

 

“The vampire thinks I’m pretty. If only Dr. King were here to see this,” Tara shot back.

 

“If you’re done trying to convince me rap is music, feel free to take off your clothes where you want me to bite ya. I’d hate to get blood on Fangtasia property.”

 

Tara had thought about it. Not looking forward to it, exactly, but wanting it over with. She kicked off her shoes and peeled off one sock. “You can bite my foot.”

 

“Oh, can I?” Pam asked indolently. She nodded to a chair. “Sit.”

 

Tara did. She’d liked the thought of Pam having to bend down like she was kissing her foot. Now she crooked her foot out, stretching her long leg like a ballerina and perching her toes on the floor. Pam’s eyes followed it from heel to thigh, the veins getting thicker, deeper as they approached the meat of the body. Tara knew she was thinking of just taking her. _Do it. Do it, fanger._ She thought the words loudly, wanting to _win,_ wanting to stop, wanting to be… fucked.

 

Pam pulled up her dress over her knees and up to her strong, creamy thighs before she knelt down, reminding Tara of the kind of pin-up model that ended up on the nose of a B-52 bomber. And now, like a cat, Pam lowered herself to Tara’s foot like it was a saucer of milk. And she… sniffed.

 

“Don’t even say nothing,” Tara told her. “I buy Odor Eaters, same as anyone who stays on her feet all damned day.”

 

“I like how you smell,” Pam said. “Very… natural.”

 

“You were expecting cocoa bean?”

 

“Or coffee,” Pam shrugged. “Strong-ass coffee… no sugar, no milk.”

 

“Bitch, you know you take your coffee like a drag queen, so much shit in it that it might as well be green. Take a bite; fuck’s sake.”

 

Pam’s eyes flashed. Her head tilted to the side. She looked, for a moment, like a broken doll, not quite sure what to make of someone so openly sassing her. Then she stuck out her tongue and dragged it over the top of Tara’s foot, pedicure to shin.

 

Tara shivered, not quite sure why. “What the fuck was that?”

 

“Just getting the blood _flowing,_ ” Pam said in a sardonic tone. She licked Tara’s foot again, somehow doing it with such confidence and dignity that there was nothing submissive in the gesture. It was like she was taking possession of the skin she touched. And her touch—her tongue was cold and wet, but not unpleasant—more like a cold shower after being out in the hot sun all day. And as she bathed Tara’s foot in her mouth, tingles ran up the human’s leg like the cool air from a fan, chilling her sweat away.

 

“That’s enough—the goddamn blood’s flowing already!”

 

“And I bet I know where…” Pam drawled. Now she _kissed_ Tara’s foot, moaning happily, sucking Tara’s toes into her mouth.

 

“Alrighty, that’s enough of that shit…” Tara shifted her weight onto her other foot, trying to stand, but in a flash Pam had a strong hand pushing down hard on Tara’s lower belly. It held her in place, and the pressure spread to her groin like a stream of water hitting a rock and splashing around. Tara groaned and hated herself for it.

 

Pam gave her a look, chin down, eyes up, fraught with ownership and want. It said that what had been promised would be taken, and there wasn’t a damned thing Tara could do about it. It was the kind of look Tara would’ve liked to wipe off anyone else’s face. It was a look that turned her on.

 

Pam flicked her fangs out like a switchblade and moved for Tara’s warm flesh, stopping at the last moment to hover over the throbbing vein atop Tara’s foot. She savored the moment, made Tara savor it too. Feel the fear, the anticipation. Then she bit down.

 

It hurt. Like when Tara had lost her virginity. But the pain didn’t last nearly as long as that had. It faded in seconds, throbbing up moment by moment through the mist of pleasure that spread out from the bite. Pam’s mouth was cold, but the blood spurting into it was hot, boiling, and Tara felt the heat of it shoot up her leg and enter her crotch. She gasped. Panted as Pam’s slender fingers alighted on her calf, threaded delicately up the well-developed muscles of her leg, the sensitive skin behind her knee and under her thigh, all the way up to her—

 

Pam’s fingers slid off her inner thigh, into her pocket to bring out a compact and check her lips for excess blood. Her teeth had withdrawn from Tara so smoothly that she felt their absence more than anything else. Like the soft relinquishing of a cock slipping out of her sex, having been hard and hot and moving fast. With a click, Pam’s fangs disappeared.

 

“That hit the spot,” Pam said, like she was composing a vlog. “I am stuffed. Couldn’t drink another drop.”

 

Tara looked down at her foot. A few drops of blood were licking her twin wounds, but no more than she’d get from a papercut. After the drug-like sensation of being _fed upon_ , the tiny clean holes seemed oddly anticlimactic.

 

“Took you long enough,” she said, staring at the holes instead of Pam.

 

Pam’s hand was still on Tara’s belly, her _bikini area_ one might say, her touch casually intimate. She scratched a long fingernail around Tara’s belly button before taking it away. “Wonder what deal we’ll make next?”

 

“Didn’t know you were still interested. Thought you were more of a womanizer than that.”

 

“Some vintages get better with age,” Pam said cryptically, standing to tower over Tara. “Bar’s closed. _Bye.”_

***

 

The foot was a bad choice. Tara could feel it twinge every time she walked. Even in the car, she felt it burn like an itch as it rested on the gas pedal. The harder she pressed down, the hotter it felt.

 

She’d set out for New Orleans at first light. Naomi was in the passenger seat, and she’d hit the diminishing returns. Her last dose of Pam had barely leveled her off. She laid almost catatonic against the window. Her moans fogged up the glass.

 

“C’mon, baby,” Naomi said, her voice like a stranger’s. “We gotta go back. We need more V.”

 

“The doctor says you don’t need no more. You just gotta ride this out.”

 

“Baby,” Naomi said. “Baby, baby, baby—let’s take some together. Fly with me.”

 

Tara pumped the gas, pressing them ten miles over the speed limit, and felt the tingle of her wound grip her thigh. For a moment, she almost thought Pam was crouched under the dashboard, licking her leg. She looked for her. There was nothing down there but bandages.

 

“I’ll lick your pussy,” Naomi said, and reached across the cupholders to scratch Tara’s thigh. “Don’t you like that, Toni, Tara, whatever your name is?”

 

Tara turned on the radio. For a moment, she thought she heard Lafayette saying “Some people you gotta let go, baby girl,” but it was just the static. A moment later there was music, and she turned it up to drown Naomi out.


	3. Chapter 3

 

“Feeling better?” Tara asked Naomi, back in New Orleans. Back home.

 

Naomi displayed her arm. There was a spot of color under her elbow. “Nicotine patches take the edge off. It’s just like quitting smoking all over again.”

 

“Good.” Tara grabbed her coat. She’d gotten a new job, it started in an hour. Human boss, human clients. She couldn’t wait. She’d thought about getting back into the fight game, but it seemed immature somehow. She just wanted to pull a 9-to-5 without any damn _blood_ for a little while.

 

***

 

The funny thing was, her eight-hour shift felt a lot longer. Over in Fangtasia, she was annoyed with bloodsuckers and fangbangers alike. But at least people didn’t bring their kids. Her title at Applebee’s said assistant manager, but from the shit she cleaned up (and the paycheck), she didn’t feel it. It was goddamn boring, really. She’d twitched at having her vampire experience be a reason for getting hired, but not one person asked for a Tru Blood on her watch. Now she even missed Sookie’s Fairy World Problems, trying to decide which gorgeous walking corpse to fuck.

 

Still, she could get used to boring. Going home, lying down with Naomi, watching America’s Funniest Home Videos. Fuck, she liked watching white people get hit in the crotch as much as the next girl.

 

Then she opened the door to the apartment.

 

***

 

“Tara Thornton,” Pam said, her superiority complex coming through loud and clear, even on Tara’s crappy cell phone. “I haven’t heard your name since that nice man called about your references. I told him you were a woman of impeccable taste.”

 

Tara wondered how long Pam had been wanting to use that bon mot. Didn’t matter. “Naomi’s gone.”

 

“I keep telling people, _leashes_. They’re good for everyone, really.”

 

“She took my money and… she’s gone, Pam. She’s just gone.”

 

There was silence at the other end. Tara imagined Pam putting down whatever it was she was doing, but that was probably wishful thinking. “Fucking veeheads. I hope you don’t think this is my fault. I’ve been out of her system for weeks.”

 

_Wish you could say the same for me,_ Tara thought, looking down at her foot. Through her shoe, she knew the scars Pam had left were brightly pale, like two moons. “She even took the fucking TV.”

 

“Want me to find her?” Whatever tone Pam was going for, that apparently wasn’t it, because she played it off with a deliberately light “It’s been so long since I’ve hunted a human for sport…”

 

“I just needed to tell someone who doesn’t have their own shit to deal with. If I sent so much as an e-mail to Sook, I know I’d end up getting sucked into some bullshit with her and werewolves and whatever the hell else is out there. But you don’t give a fuck, Pam. I kinda like that about you. You racist fuckwit.”

 

Tara could’ve sworn she felt Pam smile at the other end of the line. “You say that, but I actually hate white girls the most. I mean, Kabbalah, The Secret? Ugh! Just nut up and admit the universe is cold and unfeeling.”

 

“Thanks, Pam. You’ve actually made me feel better.”

 

“I’m an expert at feeling women,” Pam quipped. “I suppose now’s a good time to wire you your backpay.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah. Eric’s idea. He heard about our little domestic arrangement and insisted I pay you. The big Viking hates owing debts.”

 

“I’m sure.”

 

“Oh, look at that, something I actually care about has come up. Tell me, does this sound like a phone hanging up?”

 

The line went dead.

 

The small smile stayed on Tara’s face as she cleaned up the mess that led to her little vault, persisting all the way until she kicked off her shoes and saw her scar once more. One of the holes had healed, leaving just a single mark like the head of a nail embedded in her foot.

 

***

 

She went to bed early and cried herself to sleep, which fucking pissed her off but seemed a bit healthier than drinking all the beer in the fridge. That was Plan B. Then she felt cold, like her comforter had slipped off. She tried rolling around, adjusting her blankets, before realizing it was hands caressing her splayed limbs.

 

When her eyes opened, Pam was leering down at her, wearing one of her special-occasion queen of the dead dresses. “Wakey wakey.”

 

Tara automatically bit her lip. “Motherfucker.”

 

“Charming,” Pam shot back instantly.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here, Pam? How the fuck did you even—“ Tara realized, throwing her sheets off even though she was wearing a baggy football jersey and boxers instead of whatever Hammer movie shit Sookie wore when horny vampires came around—fucking nighties and shit.

 

Pam stepped aside, letting her see that Naomi was just standing there, wearing the clothes Tara had last seen in three days ago, now dirty and tattered. Her eyes were dully glazed.

 

“Surprise!” Pam said with mocking enthusiasm. “Naomi, have a seat. Don’t speak unless spoken to and don’t move.” As Naomi obeyed, Pam focused her gaze back on Tara. “I think I just made you the perfect girlfriend.”

 

Having Pam’s eyes on her, Tara wished her bare legs were covered up again, but she’d already kicked her bedsheet away, so she just got up to face Pam. “I didn’t ask for your help, Pam.”

 

“I know, I _know_. You’re a strong independent black woman who don’t need no vampire. What can I say, all the cool kids have pet humans, I thought I’d try it. But maybe it only works if you’re a blonde with a fairy vagina.”

 

“Don’t talk shit about my friends.” Tara glanced at her jeans over on the floor, thought about going to get ‘em, wondered if it would come off as more weak or strong.

 

Pam crossed her arms and looked back at Naomi, giving off audible boredom at the subject. “Well, tell me what you want to do with her. She doesn’t have the money, but there are ways of making it back. I know of certain markets where an Asian kidney will fetch a high price. Some vampires seem to think it’s an aphrodisiac.” Pam shrugged consideringly. “We never should’ve turned anyone during the Victorian Age; that was just asking for some fucked-up Freudian bullshit.”

 

“I just want her gone,” Tara said.

 

Pam smiled. “Also doable.”

 

“Not whatever-the-fuck-you’re-thinking gone. Just out the door, never see her again gone. I don’t have to kill everyone who pisses me off, you know.”

 

“Yeah, you humans are weird that way.” Pam glanced at Naomi again, clearly ruing whatever time she’d spent tracking her down. “Sure you don’t want her to grovel? Just a little?”

 

“No. That’s not what I want.” Tara looked at Pam, who was looking back at her. Fucking weird-ass shit to think about. In Pam’s crazy vampire way, this was the nicest thing she’d ever done for Tara. In fact, it was about the nicest thing _anyone_ had done for Tara in a while. She was so used to people who professed to love her, then dumped her like a crying baby when shit got rough. Someone who was all too cool for school seven days a week, then actually came through for her when she needed them—she felt like she was with Spock’s goatee in some alternate universe.

 

Shit, that was some actual Harlequin novel stuff there.

 

“You do kinda look like Fabio,” Tara told Pam.

 

“If you want to compliment me, please direct your worship to my amazing cleavage.”

 

“And what about your lips?”

 

Pam moved them into a grin. “What about them?”

 

Tara kissed them. They were cool, but by the time Tara was done with them, they were just warm enough. Out of the corner of her eye, Tara saw Naomi sitting there like a store mannequin.

 

“Can she see us?”

 

Pam pursed her lips, annoyed with the sudden cold feet. “If you want, I can tell her to go into a closet. She’s probably used to it.”

 

“No. I want her to see and hear everything. I just don’t want her to be able to do shit about it.”

 

Pam’s smile was the widest Tara had ever seen on her. “And here I _thought_ you were fucked up enough to be interesting. Want her bound and gagged too? You shouldn’t underrate the visual.”

 

“Maybe for round two.” Tara grabbed Pam by the front of her dress, knowing she was bunching the expensive silk, knowing it was pissing Pam off, and knowing she was going to pay for it. “I want you to fuck me. Fuck me the way you’re thinking about right now.”


	4. Chapter 4

Pam’s fangs practically jumped out of her mouth. “Blood with a cum chaser. And here I thought the only fun I’d have tonight would be torturing your ex. Bite the pillow, darlin’. It’s going in dry.”

 

And with that, she was unleashed. In a second, she had Tara pinned against the wall; a sharp pain told her she was bitten. A moment later, a wash of pleasure reminded her it was Pam doing it. She heard Pam moan satisfyingly at her fresh, warm taste. Then stop. Her neck suddenly felt shockingly cold as Pam pulled out, moving her wet lips to Tara’s ear, so close that the blood slipped over her earlobe. “Not gonna be that easy, bitch. I don’t suck it all down like I’m eating a Go-Gurt. I prefer my meals in courses, like a lady of refinement and taste. First, I taste you all plain. Then I fuck you a bit and find out what you taste like when I’ve made you come till it hurts. Then, when you’ve literally _begged me_ , I drink the rest and leave you just enough to keep breathing. When you’re so lightheaded from the blood loss that all you can feel is your last orgasm, that’s when you’ll know you’ve been fucked by a real goddamn vampire.”

 

Tara was able to turn just enough to look Pam in the eye. “Talk, talk, talk.”

 

Pam pulled back, licking her licks. “Naomi?”

 

“Yes miss Pam?”

 

“Ooh, polite. I like that. Naomi, I’m gonna fuck your ex-girlfriend so hard, we’ll see if a bitch can get another bitch pregnant. I want you to watch every second of it, but don’t you dare move. Unless of course you get horny. Then you can touch yourself.” Pam looked at Tara, poutingly polite. “It’s important to show dignity and respect to humans. The Authority says so.”

 

“Yeah, why don’t you respect my cunt a little before I go take a shower with it. So far, that shampoo bottle’s given me more orgasms than you.”

 

“Washing up already? Oh, Tara, at least wait until we’ve gotten _really_ dirty.” Smirking, Pam groped between Tara’s legs. It wasn’t a fondling touch. More like a possessive grip. At the moment, Tara could live with being possessed. “Besides, I think someone’s wet enough already.”

 

With a vampiric burst of speed, Pam ripped away the clothing between her and Tara. Just like that, the human was naked from the waist down. Pam had even ripped away some of her jersey to leave her completely bare.

 

“Mmmm, and nicely shaved too,” Pam observed. Her eyes flicked over to Naomi. “I guess it’s true what they say about dykes looking alike after a while.”

 

“That why you and Eric have matching dye jobs?”

 

Pam let the insult slide right off her back. Too excited about getting lucky to respond, Tara thought. “Before I let you have your twelfth orgasm, you’re gonna have to beg me to find out whether I’m a natural blonde.”

 

_Twelfth?_

For the first time, Tara felt a little bit of fear. Not for her life. She knew Pam, knew her reputation, and knew in her _bones_ that Pam could live up to every promise she made. She wondered how she could go back to humans after Pam did all she said she’d do. It had been hard enough getting over Franklin, but he’d been enough of a psycho to erase the mindblowing sex they’d had before everything had gone to the requisite sex. Pam, though—she was amateur hour psycho in comparison. And as Naomi had proved, Tara could put up with a lot of shit for some good sex.

 

Then Pam sucked her neck wound—not a deeper bite, more of a soulful kiss against the two bloody erogenous zones Pam had created. All the ruminations left Tara’s head. _Probably for the best_ , she thought, before she gave herself over to Pam.

 

“Mmmm-mmm-MMMM!” Pam enthused, like she was eating cake on a cooking show. “Now you’re nice and turned on. Just a hint of adrenaline. A little bit of sweat. Is now a good time for foreplay? Should we talk about our feelings?”

 

“Pretty sure ‘crazy bitch’ ain’t a feeling.”

 

“True,” Pam said. She daintily wiped her lips clean, then smeared the blood on Tara’s mouth. And, with a big grin, she kissed Tara, tasting the blood and _her_ at the same time. “So, tell me, when’d you figure out you were a great big lezzie? I mean, you are getting on in years. Most of the really smart ones figure out early on that stuffing a blunt sausage in their puss isn’t any reliable way to have an orgasm.”

 

“More reliable than Vampirella so far.”

 

Pam looked in Tara’s eyes, hard and deadly. “Call NASA. I’m exploring a black hole.”

 

Then Tara gasped as she felt a long finger slide into her cunt like she’d been made for it. She only had a second to get used to it; then it vibrated like the world’s newest Hitachi product. She cried out, her mouth wide open just to eke out a little squeak.

 

“What’s wrong?” Pam asked, full of mock-concern. “Surely this isn’t the first time someone’s given you the finger?”

 

“Your finger’s just really big,” Tara gasped. “Like, trucker big. You could win an arm wrestling contest with those mitts.”

 

Pam’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Yeah, I’d worry two would break something, but then—“ Tara hyperventilated as another slender finger slipped perfectly inside her and vibrated on just the right frequency to shatter her like a wineglass. “I don’t really care.”

 

Tara tried to hold it in, really she did, but there was just nothing for it. She came screaming (“Oh FUUUUUCK!”) and thanked Christ for the small mercy of Pam holding her goddamn fingers still.

 

“That’s one!” Pam cried, sounding delightfully chipper as she kissed the twin beads of blood that had formed at Tara’s wound. After smacking her lips lovingly, her fingers made an earthquake once more. Tara had barely had time to take a deep breath, much less let it out. All the air ended up escaping her lungs in one loud outburst (“SHIIIIIT!”)

 

“There’s my good little bitch,” Pam piped, her free hand dementedly pinching Tara’s cheek. “That’s a great bitch, coming for momma. Because you are my bitch now. You’ve been fucked and drank and I’m only going to fuck and drink you more. To everyone else, you can be Tara or Toni or whatever the fuck your Twitter handle is, but to me, all you are is _mine_.” And she punctuated the statement by pulling her hand free so fast it was its own kind of fucking, then slapping Tara’s cunt with just enough force that Tara couldn’t decide if it hurt or felt too goddamn good.

 

Tara gritted down the orgasm that so wanted to happen. “I may be your bitch, but I’m damn sure the best bitch you’ve ever had.”

 

And as good as the stinging _resonance_ of Pam’s hand on her cunt felt, she grabbed Pam by the hair and put all her strength on Pam’s center of gravity. Pam may have been a hundred-year-old vampire, but she must not’ve fought MMA in a while, because Tara instantly had her on her ass. She straddled the bitch, ripped her dress open while Pam’s eyes flickered with annoyance, then bit down on her tit. Although she did it as hard as she could, Pam just sighed in relief, like she’d taken a cold drink on a hot day.

 

Wrapping her strong arms around Pam’s deceptively slender body, Tara guided their sexes together and ground down on Pam’s crotch. This time, Pam let out a pleased laugh. Tara kissed her feverishly, just trying to get her to shut up. Now Pam actually moaned in pleasure.

 

Tara kept kissing her, kept tribbing her, reached up between them and twisted Pam’s hard nipple like it was a bottle cap. Pam groaned and wrapped her legs around Tara. To Tara, it was a white flag. Pam was loving this too much to let her stop, and that was a fucking win.

 

Tara looked up at Naomi, who’d started squeezing her tits, her nipples showing right through her T-shirt. “You like seeing me fuck this vampire bitch? I love it. I love it so fucking much. I’m gonna make this racist vampire cunt come because I want her so much worse than you. I’m so fucking over you I’d rather eat this bitch’s fucking undead pussy!”

 

Naomi moaned. Tara’s words only seemed to turn her on further.

 

“She’s a natural bottom,” Pam said, bored with her diagnosis. “Shame you kicked her to the curb before you found out. Could’ve had some fun.”

 

“And us? Two motherfucking alphas?”

 

“That’s werewolves,” Pam corrected. “What can I say? Two doms is just enough of a clusterfuck to be fun. You should’ve seen me and Eric during the 1940s.”

 

“Why, did Hitler let you stay on his couch?”

 

“You know who Hitler is; good on ya for staying in school. I know how hard it is when they don’t make the tests in Ebonics.”

 

The more Pam razzed her, the faster and harder Tara went. And the faster and harder she went, the better it felt. Maybe it was just having Pam lying under her, looking up with eyes that worshipped, her timeless body pulling taut where it was muscled and jiggling where it was curved, even if her face wore the sublimely pleased smile of a proud pet owner. No matter how cool she wanted to play it, Tara could feel her barely beating heart start to pound… her borrowed blood burning up ancient veins… her nipples swelling with stolen fire. Tara might’ve been a mayfly compared to Pam’s immortal grace, but she was turning the bitch on and Tara guessed there weren’t many vampires, even past the century-mark, that could say the same.

 

And maybe Pam felt the need to reward her, maybe Pam didn’t want to lose without putting up a fight, or maybe she was just _that_ turned on, but as Tara’s riding sent twin strings of blood unspooling down her neck, Pam licked them up. Her tongue teased the wound at the end of each swipe, sending ecstasy like a fever through Tara’s body. She had to admit; even while she laid there and got fucked, Pam was one bad bitch.

 

“And you called me a whore,” Pam said out of the blue, her pleased smile twisting into smugness. “Here you’re about to come and it’s barely been two minutes.”

 

“I ain’t comin’ till your bitch-ass—“

 

Without even a hint of that “Can I kiss you?” bullshit white women apparently really wanted Channing Tatum to pull on them, Pam’s whole body _vibrated._ It was literally a tremor, and her legs around Tara held her right in place to take the full force of it. It was a little bit—Tara thought, as best she could—like sitting on a washing machine in nothing but silk panties. Only this washing machine really wanted to fuck you.

 

Tara was stricken—her arms steepled to either side of Pam to hold her up, her upper body thrown into the air by her spine bending back to shove her crotch further into the Richter scale shenanigans coming from Pam. Her face was stuck on ‘fuck’; literally. Her lips contorted around the vowels of the word and stayed that way like she’d been frozen solid. When Pam stopped—of fucking _course_ she stopped—Tara hung her head and finished speaking. “—uck,” she said under her breath.

 

Then Pam started again. Just long enough to really make Tara want it, fucking _need it_ , before she stopped and laughed to herself like it was the funniest thing she’d ever seen, Tara panting and moaning over her. Maybe it was; fucking vampires. She didn’t even bother asking Tara to beg. They both knew she would’ve. So, in a rare display of grace that absolutely infuriated Tara, she just did her Wally West thing again and didn’t stop, or barely stopped. Giving Tara a bare instant to take a breath before shaking her again, and again, and again, until Tara’s eyes were literally rolling in her head. She thought she’d had an orgasm. Maybe she’d had two, but then Pam started touching her, those cool vampire hands running up and down her body, tearing off her shredded jersey in the process like it was so much wrapping paper. She felt every bead of sweat, every millimeter of hair, every inch of skin, over and over again, like she was taking in some new-fangled art exhibit. _The Fucked-up Human Being In Orgasm._ And that just made it worse because it just made it better.

 

“I hate you so much,” Tara moaned as she came nice and hard and soft and _good._

“I hate you too,” Pam said, with her bullshit sweetness. “But I love making you come.”

 

And she must’ve, because it was like continuously coming. Not even the multiple orgasms she’d had before, with a few particularly decent human lovers, but one long orgasm that skillfully let up when she needed it too, flitting on the verge of painful but always sparing her, yet coming faster and faster, giving her less and less time to recuperate until it seemed like she was being pulled upward, forced to go from the small, tidy orgasms she was used to, all the way to the big Meg Ryan orgasms, so loud and wet they’re supposed to be _funny_ for God’s sake, but there was nothing funny when you actually had to scream “OH JESUS OH GOD OH JESUS OH MY GOD!” to keep from swallowing your tongue.

 

She was fucked. Well and truly fucked. One fucked, well-fucked, well-satisfied, and well-done vampire bitch. And as she came down from the plateau Pam must’ve kept her at for hours, she couldn’t bring herself to want anything but pulling bitch duty for a vampire.

 

“Oh God! Oh Jesus!”

 

Was there an echo in here?

 

Tara looked up to see Naomi, her hand lost between her legs. Apparently, the act with Pam was scoring high in their target demo. _You like that?_ Tara thought vindictively. She didn’t feel the least bit sorry, seeing Naomi debased like this. After all the people in her life who had screwed her over and gotten away with it, it felt better than the sex to have one of them at her mercy. _You like that? Well, watch_ this.

 

Tara brought herself up, actually managing to push Pam’s leglock aside, so that she was straddling Pam once more. She brushed her hair out of the way and bared her throat, an offer and a challenge. Both Pam and Naomi could see her jugular, although only Pam could see it throbbing.

 

A note of concern, as alien as speaking in Spanish, entered Pam’s voice. “That’s not where I bit you.” She’d left the first bite mark open so she could return to it. Vampire manners.

 

“Bite me again,” Tara said, guessing correctly that the act of penetration was itself a good bit of fanger fun.

 

Pam’s fangs popped at the invitation. She reared up, lovingly running her face up Tara’s body, and paused at her parted lips as if to kiss them. Instead, she snapped her teeth in Tara’s exhale. Tara didn’t even wince. The mouth smiled as it withdrew, then flashed fangs again and buried them in the other side of Tara’s neck. Virgin territory.

 

Tara watched Naomi. Saw her flush and shake in orgasm. _Don’t even need to touch you to do that, hon._

 

For a moment, Pam just worried at Tara’s neck, leaving her teeth embedded in the new flesh, the blood welling up and spilling down her chin. She didn’t drink a drop, just let it caress her skin. Tara rested her hands on Pam’s hips, pushing under her tattered dress to feel her cool flesh and the tinge of warm that would soon grow.

 

As if in encouragement, Pam began to drink. She just sucked on Tara, drawing out a long, slow shudder. Tara stroked Pam’s warming flesh, copying the feel of her mouth. Slow, languid touches that fed her passion by greedy degree. Soon, she was reaching under the vampire’s parted legs to feel her labia and clit, both wet and hot and ready for her.

 

She used both hands, one on either, each making circles in different directions—a nifty little trick that tended to send the body into corkscrews, having two similar but opposed sensations overlapping. A deep rumble came out of Pam’s chest; she was close enough that Tara could feel it as well as hear. It was like a cat’s purr as it sat in your lap. Tara kept up her gentle masturbation as Pam drank her, no more carefully than she would lap up a milkshake.

 

Maybe it was Naomi’s panting, voyeuristic excitement, but things grew more intense quickly. Pam bit down harder, like a pitbull, her fangs deep in Tara’s throat. Tara responded in kind, sliding a finger inside Pam as she rubbed her clit good and fast. The vampire moaned between greedy gulps, liking Tara’s touch, liking her taste, maybe even liking the excitement evident in Tara’s blood.

 

Pam drank more. Tara slid another finger inside. Pam’s cunt had become warm and tight, as excited and snug as a virgin’s. Tara added another finger. Judging from the almost pained gasp that came from Tara’s throat, she must’ve felt like a virgin too.

 

Soon, Tara didn’t so much as notice Naomi. Her eyes were riveted to Pam’s bare back, her shoulder muscles undulating like wings as she fed, her whole body accepting Tara’s life.

 

All the blood in Pam’s body was rushing straight to her crotch, where Tara needed it. She sought out the warmth. The hot ember of her clit. The furnace of her cunt. She let her hands burn.

 

Pam mewled in need, her mouth lost in Tara’s neck.

 

When she came, it was like the smoke billowing from an inferno. She ignited liquid, a rush of fluids that soaked Tara’s fingers and put out the flame. Pam shuddered so hard she blurred at the edges, tentatively withdrawing her fangs as if nervous what would happen. Her orgasm, wet on Tara’s thighs and belly, dwindled away to the gasping exhales leaving her body. Like an iron filing drawn to a magnet, she could not keep away from the lifeforce she’d tasted. Her fangs safely tucked away, her head slumped onto Tara’s shoulder and watched the dregs of blood trickle down her back, red darkness.

 

Tara spoke first. “So when you were a hooker, did you charge extra for the squirting?”

 

Pam tried something like pushing Tara away, only managing to force herself off Tara and onto her side upon the floor. “Fuck you, bitch.”

 

Straightening out, she stuck her thumb in her mouth, bit it open, and rubbed her blood on either side of Tara’s neck. The wounds healed like they were icing over, a cool relief on Tara’s overheated body. Pam held out her dripping hand to Tara’s mouth, and Tara took a small suckle of V. It cooled her down further, made her feel like she was jumping into a pool in the middle of summer. But that was all.

 

“Stay with me,” Pam said, without her usual mocking perusal of a Southern accent.

 

“The fuck?”

 

“You’re a flower in weeds. Let me put you in a garden.” Pam sighed and looked at the ceiling wearily. “That’s all the poetry shit I’ve got. In my time, we called it being a kept woman. Basically, I give you free room and board, and in exchange I get to fuck and suck on the regular.”

 

Tara got up, the V fortifying enough not to wobble like she felt like, and padded over to see if she had some clothes Naomi hadn’t stolen. “After a hundred years not breathing, has the lack of oxygen finally hit your brain?”

 

Pam popped her knee out and dropped an arm under her head, adopting a pose that showed off her body better than a painting by Michelangelo would’ve. “You’ll be well-laid. Sorry. Well-paid. Let’s say, an allowance of a thousand dollars a week. And of course, I’ll be eating your pussy.”

 

Tara found a flannel bathrobe—had to be a gift from Sam—and threw it on. “You’re one unbelievable fucking vampire, you know that?”

 

Pam examined her nails, as if fingering Tara might’ve chipped them. “You want the money or not?”

 

Tara shrugged. “Shit yeah, I want the money. But make it five thousand a week, if I’m never gonna eat garlic for the rest of my life.”

 

“Not the rest of your life, just until you start getting old and depressing. Deal, by the way.”

 

“And no bothering me when I’m working at Merlotte’s or with my friends. “

 

“You’re going back to work at country-fried Coyote Ugly? And you have _friends_?”

 

“You want this ass or not?”

 

“Show it to me one more time.”

 

Tara pulled her robe up with one hand, but kept facing Pam so she could only see the side of it.

 

“I suppose,” Pam said in exasperation, as if she were doing Tara a huge kindness in taking her sexual favors off her hand.

 

Tara dropped her robe. “And—“ (Pam groaned) “—no saying ‘Pam is mine!’ or any shit like that.” After a pause, Tara conceded “Unless we’re alone.”

 

“I knew you humans got off on that,” Pam snickered. “What about Sailor Moon? Shall we keep her, or return her to the wild?”

 

Tara looked at Naomi. She was staring at them longingly, hoping they would go back to fucking each other. More likely, hoping Pam would share her bleeding thumb. “Shit. Erase her memory. I don’t want her remembering any of this.”

 

Pam groaned extravagantly, like no vampire on Earth had ever been through as many indignities as her. She even threw her hands up pleadingly. “We’re not even going to traumatize her? What are you, a Mormon?”

 

“I’m not some fucking abusive girlfriend. Make it so she—so she feels real guilty about stealing from me, so we broke up and in the morning, she’ll check into a rehab clinic.”

 

“Great fucking Lilith!” Pam muttered. “You want her to go vegan too?”

 

“Do it and I’ll let you bite me anywhere.”

 

Pam kept her mouth shut to hide her fangs popping. When they’d retracted, she said “Naomi, blah blah blah, what she said. And from now on, be sure to stay away from my human. Also, you’re going to be _very_ attracted to the next white person you see with an Asian tattoo. _Especially_ if they watch anime.”

 

“Pam!” Tara chided.

 

“Too mean? Fine. Scratch that, Naomi, from now on, you will feel compelled to state, whenever it comes up in discussion, that the American Godzilla is vastly superior to all other Godzilla movies.”

 

“She’d not even Japanese!” Tara enunciated slowly. “Laos. She’s from Laos.”

 

“Wher _ever_ cheap electronics come from, God! Who cares? C’mon, let’s get back to Fangtasia, I want to show you off to Eric before sunrise. I’m pretty sure you trump him getting his hands on Sookie’s Fae-gina.”

 

“I’ll sleep with you,” Tara said, “but I better fucking have my own bathroom. And I still fuckin’ hate your ass.”

 

Pam blew her a kiss.


End file.
